Operation Vixen: The Force, The Fetish, The First
by hawtdamngirls
Summary: The Twelve Days of Christmas are over, what comes next for Madge and Gale in their brand new relationship?


A birthday present for the wonderful Londonrainings.

* * *

Madge pouts and slumps back against the kitchen counter. "We're going to the pub _again_?"

It's December 26th—St. Stephen's Day in Ireland—and Madge is certain she's running on eggnog and pure sexual tension at this point. She's stayed over at Gale's childhood home not one, but _two_ nights in a row, and she's woken up next to his twelve-year-old sister Posy each time. And while Madge absolutely adores everyone in Gale's loud, affectionate, and gloriously Irish family, she's itching to have her brand new boyfriend all to herself right _now_.

Alas, alone time is not forthcoming. "We promised the lads," Gale reminds her, slipping his hands under the hem of her sweater. "It's Stephen's Night."

His hands are still damp from the washing up, and they're cool and slick on her skin as they come to rest on her waist. "You're not helping," she chides him.

He really wasn't. She's lost count of the number of times they'd come _thisclose_ to jumping each other whenever they had a moment to themselves. On the couch. In the bathroom. Right here in the kitchen.

"I'd rather not go, either," Gale murmurs into her ear. "But it's Bristel's birthday, too. You know how put off he is that it's so close to Christmas. We'll just excuse ourselves early, like last time."

Madge swallows back a moan as his thumbs start tracing circles on her hipbones. It's taking all of her willpower not to rip his clothes off right now. "All right."

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

Surprisingly, Madge enjoys herself. Gale's friends are as welcoming as ever, and thanks to the new _Star Wars_ movie there's no shortage of things to talk about.

"Who's your favorite female character?" Bristel wants to know. "Rey, Leia, or Padme?"

Madge smirks. "Mara Jade."

His eyebrows come together. "Mara who?"

"Oh, you don't know who she is? Then I guess you don't know who Jaina is, either."

Gale laughs and pulls Madge onto his lap. "My girlfriend, ladies and gents," he informs them smugly.

The pub's so crowded and the debate over whether Rey is or isn't a Skywalker gets so heated that soon enough Gale's pulling off his sweater. "Remind me to grab this before we go," he shouts to Madge over the din.

She nods, but she's not really listening to him. She's transfixed by something she's never seen before; Gale has a tattoo on his inner arm.

In the eight months she's spent cataloging all of Gale's physical attributes, from his towering six-three frame to his freckles and eyelashes, she has never noticed that he has a tattoo on his inner arm.

It's something she would surely have noticed; she has a bit of a fetish for inner arm tattoos. OK, a major fetish for inner arm tattoos. At work Gale normally sticks to shirts, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows in warm weather. (Another thing she has a bit of a fetish for, it turns out.) At home he's been wearing long-sleeved flannel shirts or the onesie Madge gave him, and so far she hasn't managed to get him naked—though not for lack of trying. Tonight he's wearing a t-shirt and the sleeve is short enough to reveal a line of black script along his bicep.

She leans closer to him to read it. He obliges by holding his arm out, flexing just enough to display his toned muscles. Madge traces her fingers over the words. _I shall stand_.

"It's the Hawthorne family motto," he says before she can even ask. "Actually, the motto is Stabo, which is Latin for I shall stand. But I thought if I got Stabo printed on my arm, nobody would ever hire me."

Madge laughs, but it quickly dies on her lips. They're standing so close to each other that she can see the flecks of silver in his eyes, and smell his cologne. Eight months she's spent staring at him, thinking of him, fantasising about him and all that time he's been fully clothed. Apart from that torrid and much too brief interlude in the bathroom on Christmas Eve, she's seen very little of his body.

Tonight, she'll get to see underneath his clothes, to run her hands over his skin, to kiss wherever she wants, to touch and taste to her heart's desire.

"Have you any others?" she asks in a voice that doesn't sound like her own. It's sultry and husky in a way she could never pull off deliberately.

His eyes are dark as he nods. "Yes. One."

Madge's gaze flits over him, trying to imagine what it could be, and where. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Gale watches intensely.

There's a throbbing between her legs, an actual throbbing. She needs him and she can't wait a second longer. So she grabs his hand and pulls him out of the bar into the hallway leading towards the toilets. There's a queue out the door of the ladies, and there's no way she can drag him into the gents with everybody watching. So they change direction, heading towards the smoking area outside.

It's mercifully deserted. Madge is oblivious to the horrible stench and the cigarette ends littered around. She pushes Gale against the wall and presses against him. Their lips find each other's immediately. She slides her hands over his biceps and then down his chest to slip under his shirt and feel his warm skin there. Gale's hands are on her ass, pulling her closer still so they can grind against each other. Madge moans as he grips her thigh, lifting her leg to his hip.

"For fucks sake, get a room," a voice breaks through their lust fog.

Madge tears herself away from Gale to glare at the intruder.

"Or stay," their one-man audience adds. He lights a cigarette and leans back against the railing. "Watching you two ride might be the most action I get all night."

"Let's just go," Gale says, his voice ragged as he pants heavily in her ear.

She nods. About time.

* * *

His place is closer.

Not close enough, however. Madge is tempted to pull Gale into every alleyway, every dark corner. At first he lets her, and kisses her senseless each time, but soon he refuses, says he'd rather get home faster.

His apartment's on the second floor. There's no lift, so they take the stairs. She trips a little; he grabs her waist to steady her. Images of him taking her from behind on the steps inflame her, but he picks her up and carries her.

Somehow he manages to unlock the door, open it, and kick it shut behind them, all while he's kissing her. The first time his lips leave her skin is when he peels her sweater up and off her.

She cries out when he pulls her breasts out of her bra and takes one into his mouth. "You don't know how many times I've gotten off to you," he groans as he swirls his tongue around the nipple. "Just the _thought_ of you."

A whimper escapes her lips. "When you think about me, what do we do?"

"I'll show you."

The next thing Madge knows, she's flat on her back on Gale's bed, her legs hanging off the edge. He shucks off his clothes, leaves them in a pile on the floor. Tonight he's wearing boxer briefs, and another wave of desire washes over her at the outline of his erection pushing painfully against the cotton.

She reaches out for his waistband as he comes towards her, but he shakes his head and drops to his knees on the carpet. "I said I would show you."

He tears off her tights and underwear, but keeps her skirt on. He kisses and nibbles his way along the inside of her thighs, but when he reaches her center, instead of spreading her with his fingers he pushes her labia together. "What—"

Her head lolls back when he slides his tongue inside the narrow slit. At the same time he's rubbing her through the skin, and it's creating incredible pressure on her clit. "Oh _god_ ," she moans. "Oh _god_."

She's so wet that she barely registers his finger entering her until he curls it and finds the ridges of her g-spot. The pleasure is so intense that her entire body seizes up and her back arches off the bed.

She grasps his head in her hands. "Condom," she commands. " _Now_."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He rises up and kisses her, letting her taste her own arousal on his tongue as he backs her up against the headboard.

Madge strokes him through his underwear as he fishes a condom out of the nightstand. "Mine," she purrs as she nibbles on the skin above the waistband.

Gale groans as she tugs his boxer briefs off with her teeth. "Yours."

She puts the condom on him herself, and he immediately pulls her on top so that she's straddling him. "Remember when I was hungover, and you were trying to get me to rest?" His hands reach under her skirt to cup her cheeks. "We ended up like this."

Except now there's nothing in the way between her skin and his, and she can feel his shaft wedged between her lips. She smirks and wiggles her hips. "Not _exactly_ like this."

She plays with the hem of her skirt and gives him a little show: grinding, undulating, sliding back and forth along the length of him. She never takes her eyes off him. She loves the look of sweet agony on his face, loves the sounds she never imagined he could make.

"Christ, Madge," he swears. "Let me in now, _please_."

She leans forward and captures his lips in a kiss. "Ask and you shall receive."

* * *

Gale lies on his back with his eyes closed and a smug smile on his face. His arm is curled around Madge, and he draws lazy circles on her skin. "You ok?"

"Grand," she sighs blissfully.

His smirk grows. She pokes his side. "Stop looking so smug."

"I can't help it, you were really vocal. It's going to take a lot to wipe this grin off my face."

Madge laughs. She can't really argue with that, he's right after all. She props herself up on her elbow. Gale cracks open one eye, then satisfied that she's not going anywhere, closes it again. She takes the opportunity to let her eyes do a little feasting; lets her fingers trail over his skin and down his chest. She presses light kisses where she finds a freckle or a patch of skin that just looks kissable.

Her wandering fingers find his second tattoo: his father's name, date of birth, and the date of his passing, in a Celtic ribbon up the sides of his ribs. She bites her lips. It's obviously a deeply personal and significant tattoo, but it's really cheesy.

"I was seventeen." Madge looks up to find Gale watching her, she flushes guiltily but he chuckles. "I got it there so I'd always have my dad at my side." He rolls his eyes. "I thought that was really deep and clever. Now it just makes me laugh. I think if my dad ever saw it, he'd laugh his arse off at it. My ma hit the fucking roof when she saw it."

"You could probably do something to fix it," Madge suggests, tracing her finger over the pattern.

Gale shrugs. "I think it's like people with scars, after a while you sort of come to like the scar. I feel the same about the tattoo. It's terrible, but I like it now. Besides, nobody can see it."

Madge lifts her eyes to his. "I plan on seeing it a lot," she says with a smile. " _A lot._ "

He grins. "Then you're just going to have to get used to it, if you want me then you have to accept all of me, including the dodgy tattoo."

"I want you, all of you," she says.

Gale grabs her suddenly, rolling them over so that she's lying beneath him. He grinds his pelvis once, just enough for her to feel that he's hard again. "I'm yours."

"Mine," she says, before pulling him to her.


End file.
